Krolock takes the bus
by Gigantisch Romantisch
Summary: One of Drew Sarich's promo shots was of him sitting in bus. How would modern day Krolock fare in public transport?


He could do it. Despite what Herbert said, he could. He was a Von Krolock, dammit. He could do anything he wanted!

There was no one else at the bus stop, which served him just as well. No distractions now. He would never tolerate the glee on Herbert's face if he failed because he had let his hunger get in the way.

Pacing up and down the small strip of pavement, he waited. How dare they let him wait? This "bus" should come right now; they could see he was waiting, couldn't they? He could melt into the background and become invisible if he wanted, but that was not the case at this moment.

He heard the far-carrying vibration of the engine before he knew what it was. Headlights swept across the pavement when the machine rounded the corner. Finally.

The count raised a hand, like Herbert had told him. "They wouldn't dare pass me by, would they?" he'd replied indignantly when he understood why he needed to flag the driver.

"They would, dad. Humans have their strange little rules you have to obey."

"But I am Count von Krolock!"

"Sadly, that does not matter in this day and age." He'd looked as if he had come across a few humans that hadn't cared he was a viscount and the count hadn't asked.

The bus turned on its quaint yellow blinking light and groaned to a halt some ten feet from where the count was waiting. Huffily Krolock paced towards the doors, their angry hissing briefly startling him.

The smell of countless people, of dusty cheap carpet and tired machinery wafting from its interior made his stomach revolt and he steeled himself. Suddenly he longed for the stench of horse manure and unwashed coach drivers' bodies. At least that reeked of honest labor.

With as much dignity as he could muster in a situation like this he ascended the steps and disdainfully he looked the driver in the eye. "To the theater." He paused, chewing his lip in frustration. "Please," he finally added when the middle aged man didn't seem inclined to do anything but gape.

Krolock glanced sideways, but it was late and other than a gangly teenager in the back row, immersed in music playing loudly enough into his ears that the count could hear every obscene word, the bus was empty.

"Bring me to the theater, please," he insisted, making the last word sound more like a curse than a plea.

It snapped the driver out of his stupor. "Two fifty, that is."

Two fifty what? Minutes? That seemed long.

Almost too late the count remembered that thing called 'fare'. Herbert had given him some of the local currency. "Of course." He fished the coins from his vest pocket and gave them to the man without counting. It should be enough.

Slowly he traversed the aisle, looking for the best seat. The boy in the back finally noticed him and shot up, staring wildly, a wide grin on his face. Herbert would probably like him but the count didn't pay any attention.

"Sir! Your ticket and change, sir," the driver called after him.

Warily the count turned around, his cape catching behind an arm rest and almost choking him. With a frustrated grunt he pulled himself free and stalked back to the front, thrusting out a demanding hand. The driver shyed away from the pointed nails and carefully dropped coins and a scrap of paper in his palm.

It should be 'Your excellency', not 'sir'. Herbert would so pay for making him do this.

He picked a seat halfway down the the aisle, pretending to not notice the boy in the back, but before he could lower himself into its cushions, the bus pulled back onto the road, throwing the count off balance. He dug his fingers in the backrest of a seat to keep himself upright and scowled at the back of the driver's head.

The boy in the back sniggered.

Still the count paid him no heed and carefully he sat down. There. He did it. With some care he pulled his cloak around his knees, turning his head towards the window. He could see mostly the interior of the bus reflecting in the glass and stared at the empty spot where his mirror image would have been.

"Isn't halloween only next month?" an amused voice asked behind him.

The count whipped his head around and bore his glance into the boy's eyes. "Quite perceptive of you, young man. Indeed it is." He wasn't blind and realised his choice of clothes made him stand out. However he didn't like change and stuck to what he knew, as opposed to his son, who strutted around the castle in designer jeans and hand sewn V-neck T-shirts.

"Getting into the spirit early, huh?" The boy grinned.

The slowing bus distracted Von Krolock and he anxiously peered out the window. Where was he know, did he have to get off the bus here?

"Where are you going, Dracula?" the boy inquired.

"The theater. And the name is Von Krolock. Count von Krolock."

"Oh, you're one of them actors." The kid nodded like he understood now. "Fun. Hey, hey, Krotol, can I have your autograph then?" One of his hands disappeared inside his grubby backpack and proffered the count a notebook.

"Krolock," the count growled, baring the tips of his fangs.

The boy didn't seem suitably impressed and handed him a felt tip marker, too. "Yeah, sorry. Dracula is easier to remember."

The only alternative to signing his autograph was drinking his blood and Von Krolock didn't like gangly boys' blood, so he took the notebook and permanent marker. He'd seen other people do this. Herbert was rather keen on waiting for people at the door after a theater piece. Sort of like selecting the lobster you want to eat from a tank.

"What is your name?"

The bus awkwardly turned a corner and stopped abruptly.

"Kristofer. With an f and a k."

The count briefly looked up when the doors hissed open and admitted two more people. Women. Interesting. Involuntarily he licked his chops. "Kristofer."

It was hard to write with a big marker when you were used to ink wells and fountain pens, he noticed, but his old fashioned flowing hand was still recognizable when he wrote "For Kristofer, a boy of good taste. Sincerely, Graf von Krolock". Rather proudly he handed the notebook and pen back.

"Awesome, thanks, mate."

Slightly bewildered the count looked after the boy taking his seat in the back. What had just happened?

"Are you famous?" one of the women asked eagerly.

"He's an actor!" Kristofer called from the back of the bus. "He's going to the theater!"

"Really? Cool! Can I take a picture with you?" Not waiting for an answer she gave her companion the little communication device everyone seemed to have nowadays.

Before the count knew what was happening, she had taken a seat on his lap, arms around his neck, grinning at her friend.

The bright flashlight blinded him and he snarled rather than smiled, his fangs fully extended because of gratification being so close. If he wanted, he could, but he shouldn –

"Great! Now bite her!" the friend said gleefully, lifting the device in front of her face again.

He didn't leave himself any time to wonder at the strange request and sank his teeth into the soft throat. Her blood flowed richly over his tongue, down his throat, and he shuddered from sheer pleasure. The screaming seemed to come from far away, from outside his bubble of feeding bliss, and didn't bother him at all.

It wasn't until all her life had passed into him that he became aware of his surroundings again. He pushed the body from his lap. Limply it fell into the aisle, getting stuck in an awkward position against the back rest of the seats on the other side.

The other girl held her cameraphone in a shaking hand. "I got it all on tape," she stammered. "I will go to the police!"

Von Krolock knew this was not going to be a concern. The pictures would be empty, just like the window had been.

The bus had skidded to a halt and the driver was talking into his own communication device, throwing anxious glances over his shoulder.

The count stood up slowly, stepped over the dead girl's legs and drew his cape around him.

"I think this is my stop."


End file.
